


a sorer subject

by mahariels



Series: tamar shepard [3]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Akuze, Earthborn (Mass Effect), Gen, Sole Survivor (Mass Effect), Vanguard (Mass Effect), shepard can't let things go ever, thresher maw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 20:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7284277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahariels/pseuds/mahariels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>shepard and vakarian, taking down thresher maws one at a time, and the aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a sorer subject

Wiping out thresher maws isn’t the sole reason Tamar makes a point of landing on every planet in every system they visit, but it’s damn near close. Some might argue it’s a waste of time but she’s slept easier—without dreaming of her three night vacation on Akuze—than she has in years. It’s fucking worth it.

It’s not without its dangers.

She’s on the ground.

The sound around her is tinny and distant, like a bomb’s just gone off. In a way, it has. Shoving a grenade into the—maw—of the maw wasn’t the brightest goddamn idea she’s ever had, and her arm is currently on fire from its acid spittle and her ears are ringing from the force of the explosion that knocked her back about fifteen feet.

Vakarian and Liara might be yelling at her.

_—she’s seen people die before but she’s never seen a man torn apart so quickly right in front of her, half of his body gone, the rest of it crumpled to the ground, ripped entrails, the smell of shit and blood in the air, mehta’s already dead, her only friend—_

Shepard opens her eyes. Vakarian is kneeling next to her, his hand gripping her left arm. The one that doesn’t hurt. The smell of burning flesh, like one of the back alley barbecues she used to sneak up to back in New York, fills her nose. It takes her a minute to realize that it’s _her_.

“That would probably taste good with a dry rub,” she wheezes.

“What?” Vakarian demands. “Shepard, stay awake, Liara went back to radio the _Normandy_ and see if there’s extra medigel in the Mako—”

“—my arm,” she says, “you know, barbecue… no… do turians have barbecue?”

“My translator’s not—spirits, Shepard—” He hasn’t moved her—probably afraid that she’s got a neck injury—and holds her through the shakes. That would be shock, her brain supplies, and she passes out again.

_—it’s dark and she’s running through the forest, the branches whipping her face. she’s covered in blood. most of it’s not hers. marines don’t run, but she gave up on holding the line about five hours ago. her face is bleeding. her chest feels like it’s going to explode. she just has to make it deeper into the woods—_

She opens her eyes to find Vakarian slapping her in the face.

“What the fuck?”

“Stay with me, Shepard.”

“I’m tired. Fuck off.”

“If you sleep, you’re not gonna make it back to Doc Chakwas, I guarantee it.”

Would that really be so bad? “I’m tired,” she says again, and closes her eyes.

“Shepard, you do that again and I’m—I’m going to start singing.”

She laughs and it hurts so bad she almost cries out. “Singing? You can’t sing.”

“If you wanna try me,” Vakarian says. He’s still holding her hand. It’s nice. Almost soothing. She’s glad she still has at least one hand to hold. “I’ll do my best, uh. Shit. _Die for the Cause_ probably isn’t…”

“Vakarian,” Tamar wheezes, “just shut up.”

By the time Liara’s returned with the medi gel, she’s struggled into a sitting position, leaning against his thigh so she can survey the damage. It’s not good. If she didn’t have Doc Chakwas waiting for her, she’d be worried. As it is, between the three of them, she’s fairly sure she’s going to make it back to the  _Normandy_ alive. A thresher maw has never gotten the best of her yet and she’s not about to start now.

She can _feel_ the gel kicking in, a sudden rush of adrenaline that hurts almost as much as the burns and the breaks, and struggles to her feet with the two of them supporting her on their shoulders.

“Your bedside manner is fucking terrible,” she tells him later, when he comes to visit her in the med bay. Other people might have been self conscious about the fact that she’s basically naked and hooked up to more IVs than any one person should be hooked up to at any given time, but Tamar’s gotten used to worse in her life. If there’s anyone she doesn’t mind seeing her this— _vulnerable_ —it’s him.

“It does the job,” Vakarian says, “and that’s all that matters.”

“Just like me,” she replies, not without some bitterness.

He sits down on a chair next to her bed, fingers trailing over the edge of it. “You can’t let Akuze go, can you?”

She doesn’t regret telling him—not exactly—but things have gotten so much more complicated since Kahoku contacted them about Cerberus. Her mission’s gotten so much larger, and she’s glad to have Vakarian and his rifle with her on it, even if he doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up.

“Could you?”

“I don’t know. No—that’s not true. No.”

Shifting in the bed, Tamar sits up and, ignoring his response, looks him in the eye. They’re very blue. She’s never been so close to another turian, so she doesn’t know if they have blue eyes, too. “I dream about it almost every night.” He doesn’t say anything, which she appreciates. “I dream about it almost as often as I dream about breaking the necks of those Cerberus  _bastards_.”

“Y'know, Shepard, some people would argue that going after Cerberus would be easier than trying to kill every damned maw in the galaxy.”

“I never liked easy,” she says. Smiles at him, with her teeth showing. She’s starting to get better at recognizing his facial expressions, because she’s almost positive he’s smiling back.

“That’s why I like you.”

She doesn’t say anything to that. She’s the commanding officer—he doesn’t _need_ to like her, just like he didn’t _need_ to keep her awake or make her laugh down there on Antibaar. Just like she doesn’t need to give him any little pep talks or advice. She hasn’t had anything like this since, well, since Arti Mehta.

She’s uneasy. It’s dangerous. But so is life. So is she. And if it’s weakness to trust someone to pick you up from where you’ve fallen… she’s done worse in her fucking life.

“Thank you, Vakarian,” she says, after a long silence. They don’t touch each other, though she sees his hand move, almost like he’s going to take hers. He keeps it professional, though, and she does too, doesn’t do anything except make an ironic salute when he says, “Of course, Commander.”

She dreams of Akuze that night, too, but in the dream, for the first time in years, she’s not alone.


End file.
